What's Deserved
by ObsessiveCompulsive5699
Summary: ...But England's touch...it holds you, it soft but rough...lustful and loving...asking in hopes that you'll return all that it has given to you, but expects only what your willing to give..." USxUK America's been tied up and blindfolded. But why? Oneshot


**Compulsive Noties**

**So...I'm not usually a APH writer on FF, but I got this idea and I just couldn't let it go! Sorry for any grammer or spelling mistakes in the second half, I didn't feel like proof reading it. I hope that doesn't take away from the story's...story-ness. Oh well.**

**Warning:Bo-MAN. loveee**

**Disclaimer: Why the hell would I be on FF if I was the real writer?**

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"You have a visitor." America's butler announced opening the door to his office.

"You can go ahead and let him in." America said, his voice still half asleep. He'd already been up but fifteen minutes, but these were papers that had to be taken care of as soon as possible, in hopes that Korea would see it his way. Well, it wasn't like he wanted to come off as an ass, but it was part of the title that came with America...and maybe he was that kind of person. The butler nodded and stepped out of the way. Standing there was Russia, who gave him a smile. "Thank you, Brenamen." America sighed, glancing over his papers once to see the, clearly a morning person, Russian. America was to locked on his papers to notices his fast paced steps weren't stopping at the chair placed twelve feet away. Russia had stopped in front of the desk, which was odd, but anything was to be expected when in the presence of Russia.

"Alfred."

"Yes, Ivan?" America asked, watching the pipe slowly begin to rise.

"He's summoned you."

"I-" America began, but his sentence was cut short by the blunt object hitting him square across his temple. It wasn't like he was every a fighter, nor would he ever be. But even before the blackness and numbing took over his sight and body, the assumption that he was probably passing out from shock was his best guess. Despite America's known stupidity, he was very logical. The world slowly slipped from consciousness.

America's eyes finally opened, hours he assumed, later. Whoever Russia had gathered him for was probably in the room. Hopefully they had treated the wound that could easily cause problems with memory, or anything along those lines. But, it seemed as if he was okay...Russia always seemed to hurt America, but having hurt so many, he wasn't reckless. Perhaps he knew just where to hit to make him pass out, but not enough to hurt any of the content of his head. He took into consideration who could have paid him to retrieve America, why they didn't call, or send a letter, and the amount that had gone into his pocket. It was after five minutes of intent thinking, and look at the situation from every angle that he realized his eyes were open, but he couldn't see. In fact, his arms were tied behind his back, and he was blindfolded.

"You realize, Sir, or Madame, that I could easily stand up and walk away?" America said, quite smugly, demonstrating, quickly before sitting back down. America wasn't going to lie though, he did enjoy the potential challenge laying just beyond the blindfold. He heard footsteps pacing around the room. "There's only one of you? Are you a guard?" Despite the conversation he was tying to bring forth, the room stayed quiet. America sighed and slouched in his chair. The footsteps got closer until he felt a hand snap to his jaw and tremble softly against his skin.

"Aurthur?" America asked, recognizing the touch. The hand snatched away.

"H-how did you know?" England asked, sounding somewhat insecure, and breathless.

"Would you really like to know?"

"Mmhmm."

"Russia...his touch is...rough, emotionless. Even if you mean the world to him, his fingertips hold no true feelings. Canada's touch lingers, it meanders around holding more emotions then a voice, nor word could ever express. There is no roughness to his touch, only worry. With the hope of not being forgotten. France...France's touch wastes no time getting down to what it came to do. France's touch quickly shows you the only thing it knows, lust. France pulls you asunder with gentle touches, but grows stronger with each action. But England's touch...it holds you, it soft but rough...lustful and loving...asking in hopes that you'll return all that it has given to you, but expects only what your willing to give. England's touch leaves you begging only for what it wants you to beg for. England's touch is only but England's. It cannot compare to others." America admitted, suddenly feeling something he hadn't felt in a long time, nervous.

"Alfred." England said, clearing his throat. "Why would you..." America felt a weight on his lap, and arms around his neck. So out of character was this action, America wasn't even sure it was Aurthur who had mounted him.

"Aurthur?"

"It's not fair." Aurthur said, breathing into America's sensitive ear. He sounded hurt, it would be rude to question him now on his motives.

"What's not fair?" He said, instead.

"You left me. You fought me. You fought me to leave me...even as I supported you...you left."

"England...you taxed me, you tried to control me. You...you used _me_. For a long time I didn't even think your cared about me anymore. And as I grew, you grew less fond of me...it wasn't even until recently we've began to speak again, began to talk...began to become friends again. England...I love you...but you...you deserved it." America whispered, hoping the quiet tone would excuse the rude comment. England climbed off in fury, and stuck defenseless America.

"I don't ever want to fight you again. But dammit, I would."

"Aurthur...you don't have to be alone anymore."

"Don't say that to me you, twit! Are you mad? Unlike you, I don't have Russia...or Canada...or France."

"Aurthur, I really don't either." America was dying to until the blindfold. Undo his hands, to embrace England. To show him he wasn't alone. "Please untie me. Let me hold you...if only one more time."

"No." England snarled, trying to hide the grief slipping from his eyes. "I will not let you see me like this. No one has, no one will."

"Fine, then." America said, feeling somewhat defeated. "Then do me this small favor: Kiss me." England's hands shook as he wrapped them around the American's neck, replacing himself yet again on the lap that he was so familiar with.

As they began to kiss, America recognized the tangy feeling of the soft, yet coarse feeling along his inner lip, the familiar sensation, and taste that only England could give, that only England could cause. America wished he could wrap his arms around England, claim him like he had once, very long before. Remind him how special he truly was. How important he was. Though, England was more than likely already aware of that.

The kiss was broken abruptly, and England slowly slid off.

"I-I have to go." He said, quietly, sliding a knife up the ropes. America's hands went straight to his eyes so perhaps he'd get to see England before he escaped quickly as he often did. Having finally regained his eye sight he looked around...but just the quick, he had gained and lost his beloved England, yet again.

Only this time, he didn't even get a chance to see him before he'd gone.

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**If your gonna fave it I hope you reveiw it too :D**


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